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• Artiste: Dre
• Titre: Chevy Ridin' High (Remix)
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(feat. The Game, Pusha T, Fat Joe, Dirtbag & Rick Ross) [Verse 1: Pusha] If he claims king and he claims best then I guess you can call me God There's none higher, none flyer The king pin is back, Louis Vaton frames hides the face of the supplier Peek a boo take a look at what these kilos do Air-condition the Jacob watch is free on blue A hundred thousand it should come with some mileage too Give me the option to get it service to Jiffy Lube 3 years gone feds tapin' the phone Rappers downloadin' my style I'm feelin' like a ringtone Yuck, the high attest tryin' to minime me Triple beams to bake jeans they'll never be me Re-up gang known as the kilo shoppers Ridin' Chevy's give us room to reload choppers Gourmet beef servin' niggas fillet they Oscar So many bitches screamin' we should promote operas [Verse 2: The Game] Chevy ridin' high boy, look at the hot wheels If you hotheaded we gonna pop still And when I pop the trunk you see a lota pumps I'll make the ass bounce like a bitch in some Proda pumps I drive 6 trays, 6 4's, the real 64's, watch that ass get low And I'm the rappin' assassin ask Rick Ross Gansta's don't dance we make the car do the Laffy Taffy I aint Yung Joc, but I got a motor bike And I gotta hoe I like she like to do the motor bike I'm form Murdaville, and I rep the dodges Throughin' white bars out that 64 Impala [Verse 3: Dre] No it's not the doctor, but it's still D.R.E. Tryin' to move them units like the Chronic did in '93 On that 95 doin' 95, let four of them thangs go for like 95 Black Dickie set, black Chevrolet Impala Trunk full of that black market pack product Game hit me told me black wallstreet pop ya colla Push a tee I got your back nigga I'm a holla They tryin' to J.F.K. ya boy, No! The media and paper's tryin' to blame ya boy, No! But the only thing getting' dropped because of me is the roof on the '7 tre Chevy Caprice [Chorus:] Chevy ridin' high boy, Chevy ridin' high boy, Chevy ridin' high, Off the gangsta music Chevy, Chevy ridin' high boy, Chevy ridin' high boy, Chevy ridin' high, Off the gangsta music [Verse 4: Fat Joe] Through your money in the air niggas, put ya sets up If you ready to ride and down to wet somethin' Its cocka baby, say it with conviction The A's hate me, I got no convictions They won't leave me 'til they greet me with life Catchin' up with old friends is like speakin' to the mic And I aint mister innocent, but somethin' aint right When it's five dark skinned in the line-up and I'm light My life's a movie, ya love to hate me GT bars, double exhaust baby It's all bubbles when you sittin' on Mil's Then you fuck the game up wit them Puerto Rico grills [Verse 5: Rick Ross] My gun shot whips squat Ridin' on dem air shocks Ice cream got the car painted like a blow pop, Ross No top just guts in the glass house Ten blocks no cut in my last house Pull the pots watch out I'ma chef It's Ricky Ross I'm the boss in the fuckin' biff I'ma burn rubba, rubba I'ma burn cheese, cheese I'ma burn yeese, boy I'm tryin' to earn these [Verse 6: Dirt Bag] I'm on that refer and liquor When on the block gotta pitcher The public see me in my Chevy got a star take one picture With my essentials and vogues 30's and lows Now its 20 stitches bitch's throughin' up doors Hoe's call me styles and Latino's call me sucio Chevy ridin' high like you seen a U.F.O. Haters be creapin' cuz all that work I be leapin' Now and laters be leakin', eleavators can't reach 'em, baby [Chorus: 'til fade]